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Updated: June 29, 2025
A good many years ago, somewhere on the southwestern coast of Wales, there lived an honest fisherman, by the name of John Jenkins. The Jenkinses are a very numerous and respectable family in Wales, and so are the Joneses. Mrs.
It was the second evening of Netta's stay with the Joneses, and she had been prevailed upon to go into the drawing-room, where Rowland was added to the usual little party. She was gradually sinking into a state of apparent forgetfulness of those around her, from which it had been so difficult to rouse her since Howel's letter, when Miss Gwynne said, 'I think Minette knows the hymn now, Mr Jones.
The Montague Joneses had called on a wet Saturday afternoon, having chosen that time as very likely to find them at home; but the Misses Wharton were at the Enterprise Club, and came home to find their visitors' cards. 'Such a nice lady and gentleman and such a splendid car; they are grand friends for you to have, the landlady said.
'With whom? asked Vava. 'The Montague Joneses, replied Stella, handing over to her sister the note, in which Mrs. Jones hoped that her change of employment would not interfere with her promise to dine with them next Friday, as it made no difference to them. 'Of course it does not, was Stella's comment.
"I do declare it's the Grays she's going to patronize," one jealous matron said. But the Grays were passed over just as sedulously as the Joneses and the Smiths. Excitement, again and again on the tenter-hooks, invariably came to nothing. Even Mrs. Gorman Stanley, who had sat on Mrs. Bertram's sofa, and condemned her felt carpet was only acknowledged by the most passing and stately recognition.
Ethelyn did not care to go down; it was like stepping into another sphere leaving her own society for that of the Joneses; but there was no alternative, and with a yawn she started up and began smoothing her hair. "This wrapper is well enough," she said, more to herself, than Eunice, who was still standing by the door looking at her. Eunice did not think the wrapper well enough.
But, Fieldings excluded, there are many Tom Joneses. Racey did not react. "Dunno him," denied Racey Dawson. "I heard his name was Nebraska." "Nebraska is what the boys call him," she said. "He used to be foreman of the Currycomb outfit south of Fort Seymour." "I've heard of Nebraska Jones and the Currycomb bunch all right," he admitted, soberly.
She had been to the Rectory, to call on the Joneses, she told him. "Well?" "The Doughty has gone down. All on board lost." "So I hear. Well?" "It was their son's ship." "Well?" "Freddy's." She sat up and laughed across the sob in her throat. "You stupid! I am crying because Freddy did not go down in the Doughty," she said. "Well, what a place!" Julia cried.
I stared at the name, as you may guess! There was a fine horse and buggy waiting for him at the station, and off he went. I put up at the hotel there's sure to be that whatever there is not and went after the Joneses next. I got at the woman first, she looked ill and fagged, as if she didn't find life with Rattler very jolly.
Miss Hart's bread is more generally saleratusy and heavy, but at least you know it's heavy bread, and I got heavy stuff at the Joneses and didn't know what it was. And Miss Hart's pies are tough, but you know you've got tough pies, and at the Joneses' I had tough things that I couldn't give a name to. Miss Hart's doughnuts are greasy, but Lord, the greasy things at the Joneses' that Susy made!
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